Streetwise
by Anderea
Summary: *UPDATED- Chapter 4 up!* A year after Peter is elected Hegemon, he makes a trip to Rotterdam along with Bean and Petra, where they find a street urchin who causes a _lot_ of trouble for them....
1. I. ROTTERDAM

Disclaimer: None of the OSC characters belong to me. What I am creating here is a fanfiction- which means that it is either a) purely speculation, or b) purely made up. I am not making any money off this, so it'd also be totally pointless to sue me.   
  
Warning: For those of you who have not read Ender's Shadow and Shadow of the Hegemon, both by Orson Scott Card, this story will be a massive spoiler, not to mention _very_ confusing. In fact, it'll be so confusing in later parts that I wouldn't recommend you read this story unless you've read the books mentioned above.  
  
  
Streetwise  
  
I. ROTTERDAM  
  
\"So this is the place where you grew up...?"\  
\"Surprised?"\  
\"No. Just wondering how the hell you managed to live long enough to make it to battle school. Look at that. The kids on these streets make Lord of the Flies-"\  
\"Look like Pollyanna. I know."\  
\"I'm not the first one to make the connection?"\  
\"You know what? Sometimes, I wonder. Of all the children in Rotterdam, why was I picked to stand next to Ender?"\  
\"And why was I picked to always be overshadowed by him?"\  
\"That's not what I was implying."\  
\"...I know."\  
  
* * * * *  
  
A long time ago, someone had finally wised up and started up the system of "families" on the streets, where an older kid would take care of a crowd of younger ones. The leader of the family, the bully in charge, would protect the smaller children, and, in turn, the smaller children would become the leader's access to food, since the soup kitchens were more willing to accept a family of happy-looking children than a couple of sullen bullies. Because of the system, there was less hunger, less fights, less of the pandemonium that used to reign over the street kids. All in all, it was better off for everyone.  
  
Except for her. She was still hungry. And for a while that had been okay, but now she was starving and the need to find food was something of an emergency.  
  
Her best chance for survival was to try to mix in with a crowd and pretend that she was part of another group, but that mostly didn't work because she stood out too much. Her skin color was dark, so people noticed her, people remembered her as the foreign looking girl, so she couldn't move around like she wanted to.  
  
She figured she was as good as dead. None of the charities would feed anyone who wasn't in a family, and none of the families would accept her. She had been shunned by every single kid on the streets- the belligerent ones, the timid ones, the small ones, even the curious ones. There was nothing left to her except the hunger that drove her around the streets.  
  
They avoided her because they feared her. They rejected her because she threatened to overthrow the system. She could almost breathe in the suspicion when she walked near them. It was getting so bad that some of them actually scurried away from her, crossed the street when they saw her coming.  
  
So that was why she was surprised when a small kid, so tiny, maybe two, three years old, came up to her.  
  
"What do you want?" She said.  
  
He just looked at her.  
  
"Haven't you heard? You're supposed to be scared of me."  
  
"I'm not." He said, in that typical childish voice of a toddler.  
  
She shook her head and looked away.  
  
"You hungry?" said the boy. God, he was annoying.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"You should find a family. Then your papa could take care of you." Papa. And who were these papas, anyway? A bunch of former bullies turned saints who decided to take in a couple of street rats so they could eat. What a joke.  
  
"Look kid," She laughed shortly, "I'm not starving voluntarily."  
  
"I have food."   
  
"Good for you." Now shut up the fuck up and leave me to die in peace.  
  
"Would you like some?"  
  
And she hesitated. Food. Just the mention of it made her swallow hard. When was the last time she'd been in a soup kitchen? Four, five months ago? God, she was hungry. Back when she was still in a family she would have told him to do something obscene. Now... She glared at him for a second, but his eyes stayed on her, filled with that 'you can trust me' expression.  
  
He was probably too young to be cooking up any schemes.  
  
Or was he? Maybe his 'papa' was making him lead her into an ambush. Maybe the kid would lead around a corner to fourteen kids waiting to beat her up.  
  
Then again, it didn't really matter. Getting her head bashed in would be a quicker death than starvation.  
  
So she got up and followed him.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You shouldn't have brought her here." said Bean furiously, walking down the halls.  
  
"What was I supposed to do?" retorted Petra, "Leave her there to die?"  
  
"That's not what I mean."  
  
"Then what is it that you mean?"  
  
"Look," said Bean, turning around to face her, "You can't save every kid on the streets."  
  
"Ah." said Petra disgustedly, "So when I see a little girl bleeding in an alley, I should just say, I can't save every kid on the streets, and walk away?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"No?"  
  
"...Forget it. Where is this little juvenile delinquent of yours, anyway?"  
  
"I put her in my room."  
  
* * * * *  
  
She opened her eyes and wished she hadn't. Her head was hurting like crazy. Wincing, she touched her forehead and found a bandage, a little damp with her blood, wrapped around her head. There was another binding on her right shoulder. She tried to move her arm and hissed softly with pain.  
  
[What happened?]  
  
Flashes of memories flickered before her.   
  
[Little kid, alleyway, someone brought in a switchblade... Stupid little bastard. Why did I trust him?]  
  
[Because you were so hungry that you weren't thinking straight.]  
  
[So where am I now?]  
  
The place looked clean. Not painted white, sterilized clean. Just...comfortable clean. The curtains were open, so there was sunlight streaming through the south window, illuminating everything. Not much furniture, but all in all, a rather pretty room.  
  
[What's wrong with this picture?]  
  
[Me.]  
  
She tried to sit up and felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Damn. That was going to keep her from moving for a while. She groaned and lay back down again, breathing long, shallow breaths to distract from the aches in her body.  
  
[What the hell am I doing here?]  
  
The cabinet next to the bed had a brush on it. All right then. So the occupant of this room was probably a girl. A girl with dark hair, judging by the color of the strands.  
  
[Whoever you are, come and get me. ]  
  
[I'm waiting...]  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You put a total stranger in your room?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"A total stranger. Off the streets." Bean repeated, walking faster. "What were you thinking?"  
  
"She's about as tall as you. What can she do to me?"  
  
"Achilles came off the streets." said Bean, "And look what he did. Killed seven people before his thirteenth birthday. Popped several of a street kid's ribs in broad daylight with a cinder block."  
  
"She's no Achilles."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Achilles' eyes...look different."  
  
Bean hissed impatiently, "That's not an indication of anything. Pet, don't you see? Streets are Darwin. Survival of the fittest. And living in a Darwin society does something to people. They're not afraid to hurt, to kill to get what they want." Then, seeing the stubborn look on her face, he added, "And anyway, you said she was half dead when you found her. Everyone looks harmless when they've just been beaten up."  
  
"Except for Achilles. He'd whip out a gun and shoot you."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
They walked in silence for a while, listening to each others' footsteps echo down the empty corridor before Bean said, "What are you going to do with the kid?"  
  
"Well, she's got a mild concussion and two stab wounds in her right shoulder, so she's not going to be going anywhere for a while. Being the kind and generous person I am," She grinned as Bean scoffed, "I'll probably keep her around for a week or so."  
  
"And after that?"  
  
"I don't know. An orphanage? I can't send her back onto the streets."  
  
"Yes you can." said Bean.  
  
Petra glared at him.  
  
"But," He amended, "Being the kind and generous person you are, you won't."  
  
* * * * *  
  
She opened her eyes as two people walked into the door. The boy was rather small, about her height, five feet or so. The other person was a girl with dark hair, like she had guessed, but she hadn't suspected that they would be so...young.  
  
[They're young, true, but they're important. They have uniforms, badges, power. And they don't look like the kids I see on the streets. They look ready to make decisions, ready to move, to act, instead of sitting around and waiting for their papas to take them to the soup kitchen...]  
  
[In other words, they're intelligent.]  
  
And, as soon as she thought of that, she felt stupid for reaching such an obvious conclusion. Of course they would be smarter than the half-hungry, uneducated children on the streets. Their lives didn't depend on how well they fit in the street's social hierarchy. Their fate didn't rest on what kind of 'papa' they had or whether their 'family' liked them well enough to let them eat. Of course they were intelligent. Because they could stop looking for food long enough to learn something.  
  
But, they looked naggingly familiar, especially the boy. Like she had seen him somewhere before... and it couldn't be on the streets. She couldn't imagine these two scrounging for food.   
  
Then, it clicked.  
  
"So...celebrities?" She said, "I'm surprised. Since when do hotshots care about hoodlums?" She glanced at the girl, "Saw you on the news broadcasts. Petra, isn't it? And Julian."  
  
"I prefer Bean." said Julian.  
  
"Julian. Delphiki. If you have a last name and a decent first name and a family who gave you those names, you might as well use them."  
  
"You don't look like you're from Rotterdam." said Bean.   
  
"Neither do you."  
  
"Name, kid?"  
  
"Why should I tell you?"  
  
Petra smirked, amused.  
  
"Oh yes. I'm just hilarious, aren't I? A little street kid talking back to one of the legendary guys in Ender's jeesh who could probably get his connections to throw me out the window with a snap of his fingers."   
  
Petra raised an eyebrow, still smiling, "Do you always have such a smart mouth?"  
  
"What kind of stupid question is that?"  
  
"Charming." said Bean, "Not only do you bring a kid off the streets, you bring one who doesn't have any gratitude whatsoever, who can't shut her mouth to save her life, and who is currently bleeding all over your sheets. How're you going to explain that to the cleaning service?"  
  
"I'll wash them myself." said Petra.  
  
"Or even better," the girl said, "I'll wash them, then I'll be on my way."  
  
Petra laughed, "Kid. Have you tried to stand up yet? You're not going to be able to walk for a while. Better stay here under my dubious protection, away from whoever stabbed you."  
  
"Has it ever occurred to you that I don't want to be here?"  
  
"Why not?" said Petra, "If you decide to stay here, you'll get three regular meals a day, a nice bed to sleep in, an IV, and all the sheets you can bleed over. For free. I'd consider it if I was you."  
  
The kid grinned, "What do you know. Someone who talks street."  
  
"Name?" said Petra.  
  
"Don't have a nice name like Julian." She said, "But people on the street call me Ajena."  
  
"Ajena... Spanish for strange?"  
  
"'Cause of my skin, see?" She gestured at her hand, which was the same dark brown color as the bedpost, "The social worker who named me had studied Spanish when she was in school, and when she saw my skin color, my hair color- you know I look kinda different from all the other kids- she thought that I was Spanish, the 'strange' girl in a mostly-Dutch community, and decided to name me Ajena."  
  
"She 'decided'?" said Petra.  
  
"Well, she didn't really let me choose whether I _wanted_ to be Ajena, did she?"  
  
"But if you really are Spanish," said Bean, "That means you have some of the oddest eyes I've ever seen."  
  
"Really?" she drawled.  
  
The flippant reply bothered Bean. It didn't _feel_ like a normal reaction. He looked at her, "Do you even _know_ what color your eyes are?"  
  
She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again.  
  
"I see." said Bean, "Kind of pathetic, isn't it? Not knowing what you look like."  
  
"Why should I know my looks? I can't change them."  
  
"Sure you could. That's why plastic surgeons were invented."  
  
"Look, Julian." said Ajena, "It's what I was born with. I'm not complaining."   
  
Silence as Bean's eyes studied her face for a few seconds, moving to the bandages around her head and shoulder, to the stained sheets, back to her face. These were not street eyes examining her, always narrowed, watching for any sign of weakness, but they weren't the tamed eyes of the workers in the soup kitchen, who always knew where their next meal was coming from.   
  
Finally, he spoke, "How old are you, kid?"  
  
"Ajena." She said automatically, "The name is Ajena."  
  
"Regardless, how old are you?"  
  
She shrugged, "Thirteen, I think."  
  
"Thirteen and you're not in charge of your own family yet?"  
  
She groaned and tried to sit up, only to have Petra push her back down, "None of your damn business. Sheesh. Everyone here tries to pry."  
  
Bean grinned, despite himself, "C'mon, Pet. Let's go." Petra raised an eyebrow and walked out, arming the security lock for the door as she went out.  
  
Pet? Ajena shook her head mentally. Guess the two of them were closer than she had thought...  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Charming little viper, neh?"  
  
"Yeah. Got to do something about that name though. Ajena. Maybe we could rename her Allie or Jean or something."  
  
"Bean?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Back there, in the alley? I couldn't have left her there."  
  
"Huh." He said, but the corners of his mouth tugged up.  
  
"Bean?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What would you have done?"  
  
"...I wouldn't have left her there either."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's note: All right. I don't know what's going to happen next in the Bean series, but hey, I figured that as long as Orson Scott Card's next book wasn't published yet, I was free to make up whatever I liked, and anyway, I could always pass this off as an AU. Still, I'm not really sure whether I want to continue this story, so please review and tell me what you think.  
  
Next chapter: An aspiring ruler of the world, a password hack, and a mayor.  
  
Quote: "Sorry about the lapse of memory, but I've been rather preoccupied lately...." 


	2. II. HEGEMON

Disclaimer: None of the OSC characters belong to me. What I am creating here is a fanfiction- which means that it is either a) purely speculation, or b) purely made up. I am not making any money off this, so it'd also be totally pointless to sue me.   
  
Streetwise  
  
II. HEGEMON  
  
\"Bean tells me you've adopted an urchin."\  
\"Figures. That little bugger doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut."\  
\"Don't try to change the topic. Bringing in some street rat was reckless, irresponsible, and-"\  
\"Oh, cut the crap. I did it, and I'd do it again if the opportunity ever arose."\  
\"Huh."\  
\"So why is the great Peter Wiggin, leader of the world's greatest minds, future ruler of the world, bothering to see what's going on in my boring, mundane life?"\  
\"If it affects your work..."\  
\"Relax. She's thirteen. Barely more than a child. How much trouble could she be?"\  
  
* * * * *  
  
"And how are you?" said Petra as soon as she walked in the door the next day with an armful of fresh sheets.  
  
"This is idiotic." said Ajena, ignoring her question, "Why don't you just don't change the covers until I stop bleeding? That way you'll only have to wash one very messy sheet instead of a bunch of little ones."  
  
"Because, dear girl, blood has to be washed out immediately with cold water, otherwise the fabric gets stained permanently. And anyway, you'll get the mattress dirty. Now get up. I can't make the bed with you on it."  
  
Awkwardly, ignoring the headache that pounded in her mind with every movement she made, she pushed herself up, swaying a bit on her feet.  
  
[Well, at least I can stand up without being nauseous now... Still can't move too well, though. How long am I going to be stuck here, anyway?] She reached out for the wall to balance herself, missed, and toppled over, muttering a curse in a foreign language.   
  
"Interesting." said Petra, coming over to help her up, "Where'd you pick up the German from?"  
  
Ajena hissed at her, ignoring her outstretched helping hand, "None of your damn business." Petra shrugged and went back to making the bed as the girl set her hands on the nearby tabletop to push herself up.  
  
"That was harsh."   
  
"Good. It was supposed to be."  
  
"You don't look German."  
  
"For chrissakes, I told you it was none of your damn business!"  
  
"Your patient swears too much." commented Bean from the door.  
  
"Perfect. You're here too."  
  
"You told Peter about her." said Petra. Ajena looked at her quickly. There was a note of steel in the teenage strategist that she didn't like. Shit. Were they going to start arguing? Her headache was bad enough as it was.  
  
Bean glanced at her, noticing the movement. [The kid knows how to pick up on body language, I'll give her that...]  
  
"Well," said the Greek, casually, "We wouldn't have been able to keep it a secret from him, not with you running off every four hours to change her bandages."  
  
"Hey, I told you that couldn't be helped!"  
  
"I know." And, seeing the annoyed look on her face, he added, "C'mon, Pet. You know as well as I do that he would have figured it out sooner or later. I just sped up the process."  
  
"Pet?" said Ajena sarcastically.  
  
Petra raised an eyebrow, "You got a problem with that?"  
  
The girl just smirked.  
  
Bean shook his head, "It's not like that, kid."  
  
"Ajena."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"You know, for someone who has the highest IQ in centuries, you sure are bad at remembering one lousy name."  
  
"That's only because I don't hold that one lousy name in high regard."  
  
"You don't?" the edges of Ajena's lips curled up into an odd little smile, "You will. I promise you."  
  
Petra and Bean glanced at each other, both of them opening their mouths to speak, but before they could get a word out, she was already rushing on, still talking:  
  
"And who's that Peter you were talking about?" said Ajena, the smile gone. She had changed the expression on her face as easily as she had changed the topic, "I can't think of anyone famous that you two might know who's named..." She stopped abruptly, "Jesus.... You're talking about _Wiggin_?"  
  
"She's smarter than we thought she was." said Bean.  
  
"Correction." said Petra, "She's smarter than _you_ thought she was."  
  
Ajena shook her head, "Never knew you were on first name terms with the Hegemon, Pet."  
  
"Don't call me-"  
  
"She's not." Another voice interrupted, this one deeper but still clear, the voice of an young man.  
  
* * * * *  
  
She didn't look like much, the girl standing in front of him. Pale from blood loss, braced against the wall to keep herself from falling over again, the blood-soaked bandages around her head and shoulder...  
  
Peter Wiggin shook his head. When he and Bean had been driving on the streets on Rotterdam, he had seen the kids in the alleyways, slinking along the streets. Huge eyes staring behind sunken cheeks, stick-like arms and protruding ribs, children growing up small and stunted due to malnutrition while, a few feet away, bakeries were releasing the fragrant smell of freshly-made bread. Not starvation, but pretty damn close.  
  
And however bad it was now, it had been much, much worse before Bean had changed the hierarchy of bullies.  
  
This girl looked like she came from the pre-Bean streets. Spanish-looking, with prominently high cheekbones, jutting out almost harshly over the rest of her face, bony wrists and ankles, muscle-less arms and legs. She actually would have been kind of pretty, the combination of her skin and hair color being rather unique, her eyes striking, if she wasn't so _painfully_ skinny.  
  
"Cute kid." said Peter, "What's her name?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Why is it that everyone always talks about me as if I'm not there?" Ajena demanded. She saw surprise flicker over the man's face. Of course. He'd thought that she was younger, because of her height, so he had been expecting a younger girl's voice.  
  
"Ajena." said Bean.  
  
"Ajena... That's Spanish, right?"  
  
"Yes. Means foreign."  
  
The newcomer made a neutral little sound and walked over to sit down on a chair nearby, looking at her intently, eyes summing her up in a glance. Tall and good-looking, he was young, twenty or so, with thick, slightly messy hair, the dark strands falling near his wide eyes.  
  
[So this is Peter Wiggin?]   
  
[He does kind of resemble Ender....]  
  
"How old are you, Ajena?" said Wiggin, in a remarkably civil tone.  
Ajena looked at him, trying to figure out whether he was being patronizing, "As far as I know, thirteen."  
  
"As far as you know?"  
  
She shrugged irritably, "Don't have a birth certificate like the rest of you, all right?"  
  
Wiggin raised an eyebrow at that, "My, my. Touchy little thing, aren't you?"  
  
"I wouldn't know." said Ajena, "So, what brings the great Peter Wiggin, older brother of Ender Wiggin, here?" She saw his body stiffen a bit. Oh, so was his younger brother a sore topic with him? And he just called _her_ touchy...  
  
"Petra's late for the meeting." said Peter, "And I wanted to see the little nuisance that was the reason."  
  
"What?" said Petra, "There was a meeting?"  
  
"Told you she'd be trouble." Bean murmured, looking at Ajena pointedly.  
  
"Don't laugh, Bean. You're late for it too."  
  
"What?"  
  
Ajena tried to hide her smirk, but didn't quite succeed.  
  
Peter sighed, "The three of us agreed last week to talk over our..."  
  
"Yeah." said Bean, "Sorry about the lapse of memory, but I've been rather preoccupied lately...."  
  
The thin girl's eyes saw how Petra's body tensed at those words. [Something's going on. Something to do with what Bean just said. A spoken code?]   
  
"What do you know. The great Lima Delphiki can make mistakes too." said Ajena.  
  
Bean glared at her, "Oh, shut up. It's all your fault, anyway."  
  
"_My_ fault?"  
  
"Well," said Peter, "At least one person exists in this world who can make Bean act his age."  
  
Three head turned toward him. Bean looked ticked off but was trying not to show it. Petra was exasperated- of course. Every time he and Bean were together they ended up rubbing each other the wrong way. And the girl's... The girl's face was neutral, but her eyes were mocking.  
  
[Mocking?]  
  
[Strange. She has this...look on her face that's different from all the other urchins I've seen...]  
  
"What?" said Ajena, "No smart aleck retort, Bean? I'm surprised."  
  
"Someday, kid," said Petra, "That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble."  
  
[It already has...] Ajena thought to herself, before hitting herself mentally. It didn't matter, anyway. She wasn't on the streets anymore, and it looked like she would never be going back- Petra was talking about an orphanage earlier....  
  
"Hey," She said, "Are you going to finish making the bed anytime soon? I'd like to lie down."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"So. What do you think of our resident juvenile delinquent?" said Petra, softly, so that the bug would only pick up incomprehensible whispers, as the three of them walked down the hallway outside of Ajena's room. The question was met with silence.  
  
"Peter? I was asking you a question."  
  
Another long moment of stillness before Peter spoke, "There's something not right about her."  
  
"You thought so, too?" said Bean, his tone contemplative.  
  
"Did you see the color of her eyes?" said Petra.  
  
Peter nodded, "Light blue. On a Spanish girl. Odd."  
  
They turned a corner. All three of them knew that this corridor was probably much more heavily bugged than the previous one, because more people walked along here, so they stopped talking about Ajena.  
  
Petra looked at Peter, "There wasn't a meeting today, was there?"  
  
Peter didn't return the glance, "No."  
  
The girl nodded. They had developed codes to use when they couldn't speak freely. The words that Bean had spoken earlier-sorry, memory, and preoccupied-when used in the same sentence meant that there was something wrong.  
  
"We do, however, have a meeting tomorrow." said Peter, "With the mayor of this city. Something about domestic affairs. He didn't really clarify."  
  
"Ah." said Petra, "And about the request I left on your desk yesterday..."  
  
"Granted."  
  
She had asked for all cameras monitoring the entrance to her room to be stalled, to prevent anyone from finding out that she had a visitor. As far as all three of them knew, none of the rooms in this wing were bugged with video or audio devices, only the hallways, so at least they didn't have to worry about that.  
  
"Pet...that package you received yesterday..." said Bean, "Do you know who it's from?" He was asking whether Ajena had volunteered any information about herself.  
  
"No."  
  
"Maybe you should throw it away then."  
  
"Nah. I don't think it's going to be a problem."  
  
"Then, in my opinion, you should have it checked. You know, just to make sure there isn't a bomb in it or something." His voice was humorous, but the meaning behind the words wasn't.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ajena forced herself up, to the computer sitting on Petra's desk. The sixteen-year-old had disconnected it, probably figuring that a street rat wouldn't know how to use a laptop, anyway.  
  
[Then again, I have many hidden talents.] The girl grinned, plugging the power cord in and hitting the on button, waiting for it to boot up. A screen flashed up, asking for the password.  
  
Ajena raised an eyebrow. No wonder Petra had left the comp there. She had placed security measures on it. The urchin thought for a second. Password.... A combination of random letters and numbers was recommended, true, everyone knew that, but most people didn't do that. They chose a password that was somehow related to themselves, instead. And if Petra was one of those people... How hard could it be?  
  
Bean or Ender couldn't have worked. The password had to be at least six characters...  
  
'Andrew' was the first thing she thought to type in. After all, it was Ender's true name...  
  
A soft beep, then, "Wrong password entered. Please enter another."  
  
She typed in 'Wiggin'   
  
"Wrong password entered. Please enter another."  
  
'Arkanian'   
  
Petra's last name. Beep. Wrong.  
  
'Delphiki'  
  
Wrong.  
  
Ajena shook her head and was immediately rewarded with excruciating agony. She rubbed her temples for a few moments, ordering herself to think. [C'mon. How hard could it be...]  
  
[Right?]  
  
* * * * *  
  
When Petra came back to her room six hours later, it was close to midnight. Ajena was in bed, and, judging by the even breathing, asleep. She smiled and shut the door as quietly as she could, locking it behind her. The click of the deadbolt snapping in place made the girl stir a little. Petra glanced at her.  
  
[Such a light sleeper...]  
  
She sighed and got two blankets out of the closet. She was going to have to sleep on the floor again.  
  
* * * * *  
  
As soon as Petra was gone the next day, to a short meeting, she'd said, Ajena was back in front of the computer, trying to figure out the password. She'd used up most of her better ideas yesterday, at least, the ones that had to do with people.  
  
Maybe the password would have something to do with Battle School....  
  
Games... No, dammit, that was five characters.  
  
'Battle'  
  
'Competition'  
  
'Armies'  
  
Beep. Wrong, wrong, wrong.  
  
What was the name of Petra's army again?  
  
'Phoenix'  
  
Nope.  
  
Ender's army, Bean's army, Bonito de Madrid's army all turned up a blank. After a few minutes of experimenting, she found that none of the armies belonging to Ender's jeesh worked. Ajena hissed. She was getting pretty tired of that damn beep.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Mayor Rietveld." said Peter, shaking the middle-aged, slightly balding man's hand, "Pleasure to meet you."  
  
Drewes Rietveld smiled and spoke in accented I.F. Common, the mutually agreed-upon language, "Oh no. The pleasure's all mine. It's not every day a Hegemon and his Stratego comes here."  
  
Beside Peter, Bean put on the nicest smile he could manage. [The Hegemon and _his_ Stratego. Hah!]   
  
"Mr. Delphiki, I'd presume?" said Rietveld to Bean, shaking his hand as well, "You've gained a lot of popularity in Rotterdam. And Ms. Arkanian... Yes, it's a honor to meet you at last."  
  
Bean sighed to himself mentally, making sure that his impatience didn't show on his face. It looked like Rietveld wouldn't be getting to the point anytime soon.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ajena closed her eyes and tried to think, mentally going over what she remembered of Petra Arkanian. Born in 2062, she had lived in Armenia until she was six, when she had been taken away to Battle School. Met up with Ender when she was eight, becoming one of his friends. Helped Ender in Salamander Army, lost to Ender in Phoenix Army, followed Ender to Eros, where Ender's jeesh- Battle School slang for close group of friends- defeated the buggers. After that, she returned to Armenia at fourteen, a war hero, labeled as one of the greatest Armenians in history, and was kidnapped two years ago-  
  
Kidnapped.  
  
By some Battle School flunkie named....  
  
* * * * *  
  
After a long windup, finally, Rietveld went down to business, "The reason I invited you here and Holland asked you to visit us..." the mayor sighed inaudibly as he sat down, "It's rather hard to explain, actually...."  
  
* * * * *  
  
'Achilles'  
  
A chime. 'Access granted.' the computer screen read, 'Please wait.' The screen flickered and disappeared for a few minutes, to reappear in a navy background with white icons.  
  
Ajena grinned.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"We've always had a problem with urchins, ever since the first Formic invasion," said Rietveld, "Then, about seven years ago, they suddenly became civilized. They stopped fighting amongst themselves, stopped killing each other for food, and, miracles of miracles, the older children, the bullies, the ones who used to hurt three-year-olds who looked the wrong way at them, began to actually _take care_ of the smaller, younger urchins..."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ajena glanced at the clock. Petra had said that the meeting was scheduled to be only an hour long, but would probably take up more time than that since 'the honorable mayor was notorious for long windups'. So she had, at most, two hours to work on the computer.  
[Better get started...]   
  
* * * * *  
  
"...But between the last two to three years, something's...changed."  
  
"Changed?" said Bean.  
  
Rietveld nodded, walking over to a projector hooked up to the only computer in the room, "To the best of our knowledge, since the 'redemption' of the urchins, urchin deaths before the age of eleven..." He brought up a screen showing a bar graph, "Have dropped from sixty-three point seven percent to eleven point oh, since the two of the three primary causes of death- starvation and murder by the bullies- were eliminated."  
  
"'To the best of 'your' knowledge', sir?" said Petra.  
  
"This information could be inaccurate," admitted Rietveld, "I mean, no one has really pays attention to the children on the streets before. I've had analysts go over this data. The error ratio is roughly nine percent, but I believe that's close enough for our purposes here."  
  
"Thank you." said Petra, "Please continue."  
  
"Now, this is the information we've received for the last four years." Said Rietveld, "What we have here is slightly more precise, with an error ratio of seven point two percent."  
  
* * * * *  
  
She accessed Petra's E-mail system and opened up the first large piece of mail she could find, a report innocuously labeled 'Anton'. It opened up a long report, at least twenty-five pages. The street girl pursed her lips, wondering whether she should come back to this later. She could read, but not that quickly, and her I.F. Common vocabulary wasn't that extensive....  
  
Then, she read the first paragraph.  
  
"Mein Gott..." she breathed.  
  
* * * * *  
"As you can see. The death ratio has risen once again, to twenty-six point four percent. So, one out of four urchins are dying before their eleventh birthday." said Rietveld, walking back to sit down, "Not as bad as it was ten years ago, but troubling, nonetheless."  
  
"But the thing that worries us the most is the reports we get from the volunteer workers." the mayor continued, "They talk about how the 'fathers' seem to be beginning to ostracize certain children, kicking them out..." He trailed off, "Do you require an explanation of the hierarchy between the street's orphans? I apologize. I tend to forget that not everyone has been to Rotterdam...."  
  
Peter glanced at the other two before replying, "No need to apologize, sir. Mr. Delphiki, here, has paid a visit to this city on a vacation previously. He's already clarified things for us."  
  
"Ah. All right then. As I was saying, the 'fathers' tend to kick certain urchins out of their families, for seemingly no reason at all. As soon as the unfortunate child has been 'exiled', no other families will take them in, and other children bar them from the soup kitchens, leaving them to die of starvation. I've asked a few volunteers to keep track of which children seem to be the ones being ignored, but they can't figure out a pattern either.  
  
"I've filed several complaints with Amsterdam, and, to tell the truth, they've sent a few officials over, but so far, no one's been able to help. So, when I heard that you, Hegemon Wiggin, were visiting Holland, and when I remembered your reputation for solving conflicts between countries that were supposedly unsolvable, I immediately extended an invitation for you to visit Rotterdam, which you graciously accepted."  
  
Peter smiled inwardly, remembering how Rietveld, and Bean, had spent the better part of their stay in Amsterdam trying to convince him to come here.  
  
"Mayor Rietveld," said Petra, leaning forward, "Surely you realize that Hegemon Wiggin has almost no experience whatsoever in domestic affairs?"  
  
"Yes, I do," said Rietveld, "But surely someone with his skill, or your training, or Stratego Delphiki's brilliance could figure out _something_. I've already done everything I could think of. If this goes on, I'm going to be forced to resort to send police to keep the urchins in order."  
  
Bean winced, remembering how the cops used to terrorize even the youngest of the urchins, swinging magnetic whips that left behind painful red welts or bleeding lines that would eventually scar.  
  
"Mayor Rietveld," said Bean, "Why don't you bring in one of those ostracized children to question?"  
  
"We've tried that once," said Rietveld, "With disastrous results. The social worker who brought a young boy home with her was killed the following day, along with the urchin. Since then, no one has dared to try." He shrugged, "You can't expect volunteers to risk their lives over a few juvenile delinquents. And the one time I got police to go onto the streets to take an urchin, the courts nearly got involved. It was very messy. I wouldn't like to do that again."  
  
"Any leads on the murder?"  
  
"The police concluded that robbers did it, but still..."  
  
"You don't believe that robbers did it." said Peter.  
  
"Frankly, no, I don't."  
  
Peter thought for a few seconds, then nodded, "Sir, I can't promise you anything. Like my associate has mentioned already, I have close to no experience with this sort of thing."  
  
"I understand that."  
  
"But..." said Peter, "I promise you I'll do my best to help."  
  
Rietveld let out a long sigh of relief and smiled, clapping his hands together, "Well then, ladies and gentlemen. Shall we get started?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
It took her two hours, with the aid of a dictionary, to doggedly work her way through most of the 'report'. Ajena grinned to herself. Twenty-six pages of the most complete dossier of Bean's life she had ever seen...and counting. The girl whistled as she scrolled down to the last page. Who knew that the brilliant Julian Delphiki had come off the streets as well...? She frowned and squinted at the screen, rereading the last few paragraphs. What the hell?  
  
Volescu... Anton's key?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's note: All right. I realize that Petra would probably never use a name for her password, but hey, even Bean and Ender did that in the books, and when you think about it, she didn't really _need_ a password because it was her personal computer, kept in a room where alarms would sound with illegal entry. Also, Petra thought that Ajena is nothing more than a street urchin, and street urchins don't know how to use computers, so she probably didn't think that Ajena would mess with her comp.  
  
Sorry about the long explanation. Please review!  
  
Next chapter: A challenge, a bribe, and a confession.  
  
Quote: "Why didn't you tell me?" 


	3. III. ANTON

Disclaimer: None of the OSC characters belong to me. What I am creating here is a fanfiction- which means that it is either a) purely speculation, b) purely made up, or c) pure BS. Also, I am not making any money off this (c'mon, people. I'm a 14-year-old here...) so it'd also be pretty pointless to sue me. Please don't. Thank you.  
  
Warning: For those of you who have not read Ender's Shadow and Shadow of the Hegemon, both by Orson Scott Card, this story will be a massive spoiler, not to mention _very_ confusing. In fact, it'll be so confusing in later parts that I wouldn't recommend you read this story unless you've read the books mentioned above.  
  
Streetwise  
  
III. ANTON  
  
\"As far as I see, all we really have to do is figure out why the papas are dumping their children. Then we have to figure out a way to make them stop."\  
\"You make it sound so simple..."\  
\"That's what Bea- Stratego Delphiki said too."\  
\"To tell the truth, I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Hegemon Wiggin. This seems like an impossible problem. If I were you, I wouldn't have agreed to help. So why are you doing this?"\  
\"Because, like I just said, all we need to do is figure out why the papas are dumping their children. And that's easy."\  
\"Why?"\  
\"Because we have one of the children with us."\  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You're late." said Ajena, hearing footsteps outside her door and a voice saying "Petra Arkanian" while someone palmed the door open.   
  
"I know." said Petra as she walked in, taking off the jacket of the military uniform she was in, "Are you all right? You look a bit..."  
  
"I'm fine. Whatever happened to the 'short meeting'?"  
  
"It got extended," said Petra. "The mayor had some interesting things to tell us."  
  
"What was the meeting about, anyway?"  
  
"Important things."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
[Can't tell her the truth. She may be able to figure out that 'domestic affairs' has to do with her...] "Well, we were talking about how Rotterdam could recover from the depression that Battle School forced upon it."  
  
The girl's expression immediately became confused, "What the h-"  
  
"No swearing while you're in my room."  
  
"Or what?" Ajena said dryly, "You'll ground me?"  
  
"Or I'll bring Bean in here to take care of you."  
  
"Oh." A silence, then, "Can you...tell me more? About Rotterdam and Battle School, I mean?"  
  
Petra turned around, regarding the small form before her critically, raising an eyebrow, "Can you understand what I'm going to be telling you?"  
  
Ajena shrugged, "I could try."  
  
A sigh from Petra as she tried to figure out the best way to explain, "You see, to fund Battle School and to defeat the buggers, governments made some sort of treaty with each other. For every large city within a country that had a population above two million, the country would have to pay a certain amount of money. Added on to propaganda and charity funds, the founders of Battle School were able to raise money fairly quickly."  
  
"Yeah. So what does that have to do with your meeting?"  
  
"I'm getting to that. You know that building a school in space is a massive undertaking that, under normal circumstances, would have taken about fifty years. But we didn't have fifty years, because the buggers were coming. So we managed to get Battle School built in five years, with an extraordinary amount of money."  
  
"I saw a news report on this. The money came from taxes, right?"  
  
"Yes. Taxes and bad laws. You see, the world was in a panic at that time over the buggers, so several laws were hurriedly passed without proper examination, and these laws ended up draining many countries' money supply, destroying their economy."  
  
"And Holland was one of these countries?"  
  
"Yeah. That's right. And the collapse of Holland's financial system was the main reason for the number of urchins on the streets nowadays."  
  
"I thought that the first and second Formic Invasion was the reason."  
  
"It was a reason. But not the biggest one. Think about it. If everyone on the streets was an orphan, then how many parents must have been killed by the buggers to send all those children roaming the streets?"   
  
"But I thought the death ratio in Holland was lower than all the other countries...."  
  
[How does she know that?] "Yes. And that's part of the reason Holland was taxed so heavily, but I digress."  
  
"Digress?"  
  
"I'm getting off the point."  
  
"But I want to know why."  
  
"Why Holland was taxed so heavily? It's pretty simple, actually. The international government just figured that, since Holland had lower death stats, they had more people to pay taxes, so they taxed Holland harder."  
  
"But Holland couldn't take it, right? That's why there was a depression."  
  
"No. That's why there _is_ a depression. It's still going on."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. Most people don't realize it, because other cities have already managed to pull themselves up. Rotterdam, however, is still having a bit of a problem."  
  
[No kidding....] Ajena thought of all the children on the streets, of the many attempts over the years to raise charity funds for them, of the small children begging at the soup kitchen, "Why was Rotterdam hit harder than other cities?"  
  
"No one's really sure. But most people believe it was because, although Rotterdam had a high population, it also had a high unemployment rate. It meant that less people had jobs, therefore less people had money to pay the taxes with, and the city had to scramble to meet the amounts that international law specified of them."  
  
"So it ended up bankrupting itself."  
  
"Yes," Petra looked at her. "You're pretty smart for an urchin."  
  
"Why thank you."  
  
"No, seriously. Most street kids wouldn't have understood a word of what I said. How did you know all that stuff, anyway?"  
  
"What stuff?"  
  
"About Holland having less deaths, about the taxes...."  
  
"Oh, that." [Dammit, Ajena. Think of _some_ excuse!] "There was a TV shop near where I used to live, and our family used to stand outside in the afternoons to watch, after we'd gotten our food that day. Otherwise, we were bored out of our minds."  
  
"I see." said Petra, turning away and heading toward the bathroom so that Ajena wouldn't be able to see the disbelieving look on her face, "Give me a second. I want to change. This uniform has a tag on the inside of the shirt that's been irritating me."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Bean put a finger to his lips as the two of them, Peter and himself, walked into the room and flicked on the lights. He mouthed one word, "Bug."   
  
The Hegemon nodded, watching as Bean climbed onto the table, unscrewing the light bulb, taking the holder off to reveal the wires below. He then took a small piece of machinery out of his pocket and a pair of wire cutters, snipping at a few choice wires, then hooking the mechanism up to where the light bulb used to be.  
  
"It's safe to talk now." said Bean.  
  
"Anti-bugging device?" said Peter.  
  
"Yeah. Graff gave it to me. Produces small noises to counter whatever sounds we make. It's not perfect, though, so we're still going to have to whisper."  
  
Peter raised his eyebrows briefly, approvingly, "Not bad."  
  
"You really think that Ajena is..." Bean shook his head.  
  
"It makes sense, doesn't it? When Petra found her, she'd been stabbed twice, hit over the head until she was bleeding, and was half dead. You think any papa would have allowed someone else to do that to a member of his family?"  
  
"No, but... Maybe her papa did it, you know?"  
  
"Why would he do that?"  
  
"Gain control. It's uncommon for someone her age to not be in charge of her own family already. So maybe Ajena was trying to take control of her papa's family and the guy didn't like it."  
  
"Well, you've got a point there," conceded Peter, "But wouldn't the guy actually be _losing_ control over his family if the children knew he was capable of doing something like that? I mean, for all they knew, they could be the next ones to get murdered."  
  
"Not really. The youngest children would be too naïve to question him, and the older ones would be too afraid to do so. The way of the street. Don't argue and you'll have a better chance of seeing your next birthday."  
  
"Ah."  
  
There they sat, in semi-darkness, both thinking.  
  
"We can't let her know that we need information out of her." said Bean.  
  
"No."  
  
"But we still need her to tell us everything she knows of the streets."  
  
"That's going to be a problem."  
  
"Yeah. Because she's not exactly the most open person in the world."  
  
"So, any ideas?"  
  
"Petra." The two of them said at the same time.  
  
"Yeah." Bean sighed, "Seems a bit...."  
  
"Exploitive. I know."  
  
"But it's necessary."  
  
"Huh." said Peter softly, self-mockingly, almost bitterly. Then, a soft exhalation, almost a sigh, "So much trouble over one little girl." He mused to himself.  
  
Bean nodded in agreement. There was nothing he could say to that.  
  
"We'd better go." Peter pointed at the schedule on the door, tapping the section that stated there was a bi-weekly meeting at 2 p.m. on Mondays and Thursdays.  
  
Bean glanced at his watch, "Yeah."  
  
He climbed up on the table to take the device off, reconnecting the wires and screwing the bulb back in. Suddenly, light flooded the room and the two of them blinked, unused to the brightness. Bean pocketed the device and they held a short, meaningless debate for the benefit of the bugs in the room, then turned around and left, arguing all the while.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"She scares me." said Petra simply, drinking the rest of her water with one gulp. She and Bean were in the cafeteria, where the noise of people talking around them prevented anyone from overhearing them.  
  
Bean raised an eyebrow, "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"She's been asking me about, you know, political affairs. Why Rotterdam's in a depression, why Ender wasn't allowed to come back to earth, how Peter got elected as Hegemon, things like that." said Petra.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"So I've been explaining, and the girl... you got to remember, she's from the streets, she has close to no knowledge of political matters, I've had to explain almost everything in detail at first so she would understand it. Anyway, she's been _absorbing_ the things I'm telling her, learning them at an unbelievably fast rate." She shook her head, "I'm not kidding you, Bean. Although she doesn't have a lot of the common knowledge normal children grow up with, this girl is brilliant. Obviously so."  
  
"Battle School material?"  
  
"If she had a year or two to learn all the stuff that she never learned as an urchin, yeah."  
  
"So what the hell is she doing on the streets?"  
  
"I don't know. You tell me. And there's another thing I noticed, just a while ago. I guess we're used to it, so we didn't see it earlier, but she has perfect speech- the grammar, the wording, everything. She hasn't picked up much of the street slang urchins use. Don't you find that odd?"  
  
"It's odd, but inconclusive. _I_ had mostly perfect grammar, even on the streets."  
  
"Give me a break, Bean. You're exceptional."  
  
"And she's not?" Bean shrugged, "Is that all you called me here for? You sounded pretty unsettled on the phone."  
  
"There's something else."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I need a trace on any activity on my laptop in the past forty-eight hours. The kid's been messing with my computer."  
  
She saw how Bean's eyes widened, "You're sure?"  
  
"Yeah. When I came back from the meeting, Ajena and I talked for a while, and when I went to turn the laptop on later, it was warm. And she's the only one who could've used it without someone noticing."  
  
"She could've let someone in."  
  
"Impossible. Only I have the codes to disarm the security system on my door long enough to let someone in."  
  
"She's street, though. I didn't know how to use a desk until Carlotta...."  
  
"I know. But somehow, she figured it out, or maybe..."  
  
"Or maybe she's not street."  
  
Petra nodded.  
  
"Bean. If I managed to get a blood sample, do you think...?"  
  
"Holland's DNA records aren't too extensive, but we can probably get Chamrajnagar and Anderson to help us out. They've kept a few of their connections open."  
  
"Maybe we're being too paranoid. She could just be very, very brilliant."  
  
"Or she could be a very, very good fake. Either way she's a problem."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You're not bleeding as much." said Petra, unwrapping the bandage around her shoulder and inspecting the stab wounds, "I don't see any infection. It should heal clean." She moved over to the trashcan, seemingly to throw the bloody cloth away, but instead stuck it in an opened plastic bag in her pocket.  
  
"Will it scar?" asked Ajena.  
  
Petra laughed, "Vain streak?"  
  
"No, that's not it. It's just gonna be hard explaining this to the kids I live with."  
  
"Well, they probably will scar, but it'll fade in time. In the meantime, just don't take off your shirt, no matter how cute the guy is, okay?"  
  
"Ha, ha. Very funny."  
  
"There any blood on the sheets?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good. I won't need to change them, then." Petra stood and stretched, stifling a yawn, "I'm feeling a bit tired."  
  
"Go to sleep." said Ajena, "I'll let you have the bed for a couple of hours."  
  
"Thanks, but I got a meeting."  
  
"Another one?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What's this one on?"  
  
"Same as yesterday."  
  
"Again?"  
  
"Hey, Rome wasn't built in a day, you know?"  
  
"Yeah, but...."  
  
"Got to go. See you later, okay?"  
  
"Later."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Bean glanced at Petra as she walked out of the room. She stuck her hand into her right pants pocket. The boy got his cell phone out, dialing in Peter's number.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"So, can you help us?" said Peter, crossing his legs.  
  
Rietveld raised his eyebrows and looked away, staring out of the window, "It seems like an awful lot of trouble over one small girl. You sure you don't want to bring her in for questioning?"  
  
"No," said Peter firmly. "She's thirteen. Still a juvenile, in the eyes of the public."  
  
"Doesn't it seem a bit...what's the word for it?"  
  
"Exploitive?" Peter smiled thinly, "Yes, it does. But I can't think of anything else that doesn't involve police or courts to some degree. Can you?"  
  
"Not off the top of my head."  
  
"I'm open to suggestions, though. If you come up with a better idea, please let me know."  
  
The mayor nodded, "So where's the blood sample now?"  
  
"In your inbox."  
  
"My...inbox?"  
  
"Plastic bagged and wrapped in brown paper. It looks like all the other parcels that you have."  
  
Rietveld grimaced a little, "All right. Moving on to more pleasant matters- How're your parents doing?"  
  
"They gave me a phone call the other day. They don't get out of the country much, so they're having the time of their lives." [Their miserable, Ender-less lives...] He almost added, but shut his mouth in time.  
  
"Do they like the accommodations we arranged for them?"  
  
"Yes. They commented on how luxurious they were. My mother's exact words were, as I believe, 'Better than what we have back home.'"  
  
"Glad to hear it." Rietveld smiled briefly before sighing, standing up and extending his hand. That was Peter's cue to wrap up their talk, "I'll contact you as soon as we get results on the blood test. Hope to see you soon, Hegemon Wiggin."  
  
"Thanks for your cooperation."  
  
"No," said Rietveld, "Thank _you_. On behalf of Rotterdam, I hope you figure this out."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ajena let out an audible sigh as she got up and began walking around the room. She'd made this a regular pattern- a thousand steps at seven in the morning, two thousand at noon, and another two thousand at six PM, while Petra was usually out at breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Lately, her head didn't spin as much and her arm had stopped bleeding every time she accidentally banged it, so, with luck, and with the regular meals she'd been getting, she might even be able to get herself back in shape.  
  
[At least, back to the way I used to be before Riki...]  
  
She smiled to herself, a little bitterly, and looked at the window. Petra had made it explicitly clear that she couldn't open the blinds when she wasn't in the room, but that didn't stop her from peeking out from between the slats. There was really nothing to see, anyway. A rather pretty courtyard containing several tall trees, a sidewalk winding along whatever flowers were in bloom during the season, and the occasional set of lovers at twilight. Hell, she even knew what each of the three doors set into the walls led to from the map she'd found on Petra's computer. East- cafeteria. South- hallway with mostly conference rooms. North...  
  
She stopped mid-step, her mind flickering through a myriad of possibilities, then kept on walking.  
  
North led to the main entrance.  
  
Of course, there were guards. And cameras. And about three different checkpoints to pass through. But she was reasonably sure that she could get through them without any problems. Ajena grinned to herself, mentally listing the things she'd need.  
  
She always loved a challenge.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The girl was sleeping again when Petra came back. The Armenian shook her head, eyes going over the pale fuzz carpet. There were darker, flatter areas where someone had paced around the room, retracing her steps over and over again.  
  
[Guess we know who that someone is, neh?]  
  
Petra sighed, putting down the uneaten tray of food she was carrying on the small table next to the bed. She'd meant to bring it for Ajena, but the girl obviously wasn't going to be eating it anytime soon, and she didn't want to wake her up. Instead, she went over to the computer, hit the on switch.  
  
It had been a long day. A maid had nearly gotten into her room- almost discovering Ajena- before Petra had stopped her. Rietveld hadn't been able to make any progress with the blood sample. Peter and Bean had spent the entire morning and the majority of the afternoon attending meeting after meeting until they were both in a foul mood and were snapping at each other throughout dinner, and, to top it all off, the trace on her computer she'd requested, a trace that should have only taken two hours with her priority status, was going to take another two days to come through due to a new virus that had spread through Embassy's computers.  
  
[Damn. Maybe I should've just stayed in bed this morning.]   
  
She cast a glance over the figure in her bed as she waited for the computer to boot up. It was almost relaxing to watch Ajena sleep, the covers rising and falling with each breath she took. Petra felt the tension in her body unknotting, until....  
  
The computer beeped, jerking her out of the dreamlike state she'd been in. Petra shook her head and typed in "Achilles"- she hadn't changed the password yet, because she wanted to know what else Ajena would try to do with the system- watching as the screen flicked on.  
  
New mail. The usual collection of stuck-up politicians trying to reach the Hegemon through her, the almost daily E-mail from her family, still in Brazil, the updates from Peter, the occasional hi from her old Battle School friends, and...  
  
A report from jdelphiki@.strat.gov  
  
Petra felt unreasonably apprehensive as she double-clicked on the mail labeled "Anton."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Hey." said Peter to the girl standing in the dead end. She looked like she was eight or nine years old, on the thin side, but fairly healthy for an urchin. Naturally, the kid didn't reply, glaring at Peter warily.  
  
"Look," said Peter, taking his wallet out of his back pocket, "There's something in for you if-"  
  
"I don't spread my legs for anyone, least of all you."  
  
Peter colored at the remark, but forced himself to keep his calm, "No, thank you. I like my women taller and _older_. Now, if you would just listen...."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I'll give you enough money to buy a couple of hot dogs off that vendor two streets down if you answer my questions about this other girl I know."  
  
The girl was looking at the bill he was holding in his hand. She swallowed, hard. Peter smiled to himself. He was right. Although the street kids were getting enough to eat, they were still hungry enough to want a meal or two on the side. This was almost too easy.  
  
"You got my attention."  
  
"You know someone who calls herself Ajena? Dark skin, dark hair, blue eyes?"  
  
The urchin's eyes widened in surprise, "Look, I don't-"  
  
"Don't lie to me." Peter cut her off, waving the bill around, "You want this or not?"  
  
After a long silence came the grudging answer, "Yeah. Know her." Then, underneath the girl's breath, "The bitch."  
  
Peter raised an eyebrow at the last word but continued on, "She be twelve, thirteen, neh? Why she not in charge of a family? Or in one?"  
  
"No kids go near her."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"'Cause she killed her papa."  
  
* * * * *  
  
When Bean palmed open the door to his room a few hours later, he found someone sitting on his bed, waiting up for him. He stood there for a few moments, letting his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness in the room. Only three people knew how to override the security codes on his door- Peter, himself, and....  
  
"Petra."  
  
No reply.  
  
"Pet?" He went over to her, touched her cheek in the semi-darkness, and was startled to find that it was damp. She pushed him away roughly, wiping her face on her sleeve before looking up at him.  
  
"Tell me this is all a joke."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Anton. Volescu. Tell me all this shit is some joke gone wrong." Her eyes, pleading, begging, asking him not to seal the sentence that would destroy all hope of anything between them. It would be so easy to lie, to tell her no, it wasn't true, he wasn't going to die before his twenty-fifth birthday from the genetic enhancements Anton had discovered and Volescu had made. No, he was fine, no, he was great, no, don't worry, Petra, and for God's sake, please, _please_, don't cry.  
  
"It's the truth."  
  
"Oh, God..." He heard a catch of breath in her voice before she composed herself. He waited a long time for her next words.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" She said. The voice was flat. No emotion, nothing. Somehow, that unnerved him more than if she'd been screaming at him.  
Bean let out a long sigh and sat down on the mattress next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. She didn't flinch away at the touch, but she didn't respond either, "I did tell you. I sent you an-"  
  
"You sent me an E-mail." said Petra, a note of almost cynical laughter going into her voice before it was replaced by something close to a sob, "Dammit, Bean, why? Why didn't you _tell_ me?"  
  
She buried her face in her hands, feeling Bean's arms go around her as she wept, his lips whispering meaningless words of comfort, his hands pulling her towards him so that her head rested on his shoulder, rocking back and forth, back and forth, until she fell asleep in the embrace of a boy far too young to die.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's note: Okay, so what do you think? Please review! (I need the motivation to write the fourth chapter...^_^;)  
  
Next chapter: A disappearing act, a chance meeting, and an answer.   
  
Quote: "I'm not making an accusation here, Peter."  
  
Hint (since I love you guys so much, lol): chance meeting is with someone that a few of you _might_ remember from Ender's Shadow (I doubt it, though. The guy was only mentioned in the first couple of chapters...). Any guesses as to who that is? 


	4. IV. SERGEANT

Disclaimer: None of the OSC characters belong to me. What I am creating here is a fanfiction- which means that it is either a) pure speculation, or b) pure BS. Also, I am not making any money off this so it'd also be pretty pointless to sue me. Please don't. I can't afford a laptop, let alone a lawsuit. Thank you.  
  
Warning: For those of you who have not read Ender's Shadow and Shadow of the Hegemon, both by Orson Scott Card, this story will be a massive spoiler, not to mention _very_ confusing. In fact, it'll be so confusing in later parts that I wouldn't recommend you read this story unless you've read the books mentioned above.  
  
~To Angelette a.k.a. Peter~  
  
Thank you for long discussions over E-mail and highlighted grammatical errors, for dragging me out of my aforementioned writer's block and being brave (and perceptive) enough to point out blatantly huge plotholes to me. You're a wonderful, wonderful person.  
  
  
Streetwise  
  
IV. SERGEANT  
  
\" Of all the stupid, idiotic things to-"\  
\"Well, if you're done insulting me now..."\  
\"No, I'm not done 'insulting' you! God, Peter, you know you shouldn't go out without a bodyguard!"\  
\"The information I found out-"\   
\"That information is worth _nothing_ if you got yourself killed out there on the streets last night! You should've-"\  
\"I should've what? Let one of your people take care of it? Right. You know that second-hand information is rarely accurate, especially second-hand information twisted by the bearer to protect the receiver, so why settle for imprecision when you can easily-"\  
\"It's not a question of how _accurate_ the information is, damn it! It's your safety I'm- My God! You really don't get it, do you? What you did was reckless, irresponsible, and-"\  
\"Funny. As I recall, I was saying those same words to Petra just the other day. And her response was somewhere along the lines of 'cut the crap.' So cut the crap, Bean. I can take care of myself. And if I can't, there's always the panic button in my back pocket."\  
\"Peter, you-"\  
\"Now, if you don't mind, I have a meeting with the good General Brinker that I can't miss. See you later."\  
\"Peter..."\  
\"See you later."\  
  
* * * * *  
  
Bean was disgusted as he watched the Hegemon stalk out of the room. So this was Ender's brother? This was the man he was supposed to make the future leader of the world? This twenty-two-year-old whose expression, at the moment, showed a definite resemblance to a rebellious teenager who had just had a fight with his parents?   
  
["Cut the crap, Bean," he says. How mature, Peter. How utterly grown-up of you.]  
  
Dammit, once that man got an idea in his head, it was so _hard_ to talk him out of....  
  
["I can take care of myself."]  
  
[No, Peter. That's the thing. You can't take care of yourself and you don't even know it. You're still used to living in the world of the Internet, the world of false aliases and electronic words, of ridiculously easy-to-break rules and relative safety.]  
  
[This is the real world, where bullet wounds mean more than a "game over" message and a slip of the mouth can't be erased with the backspace button. And if you think that you understand how to protect yourself against possible enemies who aren't just names in your little electronic address book, against children who do anything to get a few hotdogs, against the worst of Rotterdam, then...]  
  
With a soft exhalation of air to calm himself, the Stratego shook his head and headed down the hallway. He had to find the head of security. Get him to tighten the surveillance on a certain rash young man whom, incidentally, Bean had sworn his loyalty to.  
  
[You're a goddamned fool, Peter.]  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Ajena?" said Petra as she opened the door to her room, "Sorry about leaving you alone last night. I had some things to talk over with-" She stopped. Wasn't the room much colder than it should've been? She stepped in, and the first thing that met her eyes....  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ajena grinned to herself, breaking into a run to put more distance between herself and the Brazilian Embassy. It had been almost stupidly easy to escape the room- all she had to do was open the window and jump out. She'd felt a little light-headed afterwards, the nausea in her head not being completely gone, but that soon went away. Then she'd flashed the ID card she'd stolen from Petra, quickly enough so that the guards didn't have time to take a close look at it, slowly enough so that they'd recognized it for what it was.   
  
So fucking easy.  
  
Passing a shop window, she quickly checked over the clothes she was wearing. They were smaller than what Petra usually wore, but loose on her; she was still too skinny to fit them well. The fifteen-year-old strategist gave her more than enough food to eat, but Ajena had only stayed at the Embassy for a week- not enough time to regain the body weight she'd lost starving on the streets.  
  
The jacket had to go, though. The telltale Hegemony insignias on her shoulders only attracted looks from the bystanders, made her unforgettable. She would be remembered as the Spanish-looking girl who ran down the streets in a military uniform. So, as soon as she ran by one of the enormous green dumpsters lining the alleyways of Rotterdam, she tossed the jacket in. Problem solved.  
  
Now she could pass (relatively) unnoticed as she walked quickly past the mothers clutching their babies, the tentatively smiling young children, the businessmen who shot irritated glares at her. Soon, she was in a deserted area, far from the populated areas of town. She slowed down and allowed herself to stop for a few seconds, breathing a deep sigh of relief.  
  
That's when she noticed the footsteps that were following her own.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"How the hell could she have escaped?" said Peter viciously, slamming the door to the conference room shut as soon as Bean had plugged in the debugging device, "Don't you have an _alarm_ on that window?"  
  
"I did," said Petra, forcing herself to sound calm despite the defensive flare of anger and the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, "It got taken off a week ago."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because it kept on sounding whenever some bird flew by."  
  
Peter's mouth formed several unintelligible curses as he sat down heavily. [I don't need this. God. I can not deal with this right now...]  
  
"How'd she get out?" said Bean, sounding a lot calmer than Peter felt.  
  
"The window was cracked open when I came in, and the dirt beneath my window was scuffed, so I'd assume she jumped out."  
  
"She _jumped_ out of a window twenty-two feet off the ground?"  
  
"Looks like it." said Petra, the tiredness in her voice showing through as she sat down, slumping into the chair, "Also, she's taken one of my uniforms. It'd be a bit big for her, but...."  
  
"Was there a bug in it?" said Peter. The three of them had gotten into the habit of placing tracers in their clothing, so if any of them ever went missing, they could be hopefully be found.  
  
Petra shook her head, "It was an old set I accidentally packed from Brazil that was too small for me. And since I didn't wear the uniform, I didn't put a bug in it."  
  
A long silence.  
  
"How hard would it be," said Peter, "To find one Spanish-looking girl in a Dutch environment?"  
  
"Pretty hard, if the one Spanish-looking girl knows how to hide." said Bean.  
  
That was true. There were a million nooks and crannies on the streets that the average urchin could retreat to in case he pissed off another family or a cop, and Ajena, being Ajena, would've already found a safe refuge.   
  
Petra stared down at her fingers, unconsciously intertwined so tightly that the knuckles were going white. Bean reached over and gently pried her hands apart, immediately causing first a wave a disgust to wash through Peter- sentimentality did not suit his Stratego- followed closely by a wave of guilt. Bean understood. Bean understood that there was really nothing much Petra could've done to prevent this, and he controlled his emotions well enough to conceal his anger. So why couldn't Peter do the...?  
  
"Petra, I apolo-"  
  
"It's all right." She managed a weak smile, "I understand."  
  
Silence again. Peter groaned softly to himself, rubbing his temples tiredly.  
  
So what could they do? Couldn't involve the public (they'd panic, thinking that the government had allowed yet _another_ brilliant juvenile delinquent to slip into their midst). Couldn't involve the courts (since none of the judges would agree to issue a warrant for a thirteen-year-old girl who hadn't really _done_ anything). Couldn't involve the police (Rietveld and Peter had agreed on that, and anyway, any information given to the police would inevitably leak to the press, then to the public, which would be a disaster).   
  
Peter smiled wryly, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. Relax, Petra had said when he had tried to question her about Ajena, She's thirteen. Barely more than a child. How much trouble could she be?  
  
[That's a good question.]  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ignoring the insistent aching in her shoulder- dammit now was _not_ the time for her body to cop out on her-, she broke into a run, hearing the footsteps behind her grow quicker and heavier as whoever was following her began to sprint. She tried to remember the twists and turns of this alleyway and the streets it led to, referring back to distant memories of living here, years ago. If she was right, there'd be a soup kitchen six or seven blocks down. There would be lights there, and people, and the tail would have to call off the chase, at least for a while.  
  
She skidded to a halt and turned left, taking a shortcut through an old abandoned warehouse that her family used to sleep in before the group had broken up.   
  
[And whose fault was that, huh?]  
  
Ajena snarled in disgust, shoving that thought out of her mind. The guilt could come later. Right now, she had to shake off the person trailing her. She closed the only door leading into the building and pushed a few things against it- not enough to keep a truly determined person out, but enough to slow him down a little.  
  
Breathing harshly, glancing behind her every few steps with instinctive stupidity, she left the warehouse and made another turn, then another, then another, hoping to keep her follower confused by moving along an unpredictable path. Finally, when she couldn't hear the footsteps behind her any more, she slowed down, head dizzy, sides aching from running so much.   
  
She glanced back, surreptitiously, to make sure that there was no one around, then walked the rest of the way to the kitchen, her heart beating much harder than she would've liked to admit. Before she touched the door it slammed open of its own accord and a pair of hands reached out for her.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"All right, let's stop pointing fingers here," said Bean, ignoring the glare from Peter, "...and talk about what we're going to _do_."  
  
"Can't we pick off another urchin?" said Petra. "There are plenty others of street kids-"  
  
"None who have been 'exiled' from their families," said Peter.   
  
"Bribe another urchin. Make them give us a few of their exiles."  
  
"But none of them are going to talk," said Bean, quietly.  
  
The Hegemon raised an eyebrow, "Why not?"  
  
Bean got up, went to one of the computers in the back of the room, and tapped a few keys to snap it out of its standby mode.  
  
"What're you trying to do?" said Petra.  
  
Bean was typing in his username and password, "Get today's local news." He said simply, watching the system log him in.  
  
The Hegemon glanced at Petra, "You read the newspaper today?"  
  
"I access the nets, Peter. Same as you."  
  
A few moments later, after clicking a few times, Bean found what he was looking for and stood aside so that the other two could see. "Young girl found in a dumpster behind the Hotel Hilton. She look familiar?"   
  
* * * * *  
  
She panicked and tried to scream, but all that came out of her mouth was a choked off little gasp of surprise before strong arms wrapped themselves around her body, effectively restraining her arms, and a hand clamped over her mouth. She let out a muffled cry and began to struggle, kicking out wildly until the guy holding her was forced to pin her against the wall, hold her body down with his own. It took her a long time to realize that he wasn't fighting her, but repeating the same words over and over again.  
  
"For Chrissakes, Ajena, calm down!" His voice breathed into her ear, surprisingly calm in contrast to her loss of control, "Relax, it's me. It's me. Ajena, relax...." Her eyes widened.  
  
[What the-]  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Since she was beaten and raped prior to her death," said Bean, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall. "Police assumed that she was another child prostitute who happened to pick up the wrong guy. It's not an uncommon event. But the thing that got my attention was here."   
  
He highlighted a line of text with the mouse. "Official reports say the victim is- _was_- seven, eight years old, short, skinny, with dark blond hair cropped close to her head." Bean looked up at Peter, raised an eyebrow, "Doesn't that match the general description of the girl you bribed yesterday for information on Ajena?"  
  
It took a full two seconds for the Hegemon to react, flinching like he'd just been slapped, "My God..." He muttered, pressing his eyes against the heel of his hands.  
  
"I'm not making an accusation here, Peter," said Bean, quietly, gaze never leaving Peter's face. "I'm trying to ask a question. Is it the same person?"  
  
The Hegemon looked up and shook his head, disbelievingly. "I don't remember," said Peter finally. "The hair was blond, yes. Cropped short. But other than that..." He shook his head, eyes straying back to the line of text. "I don't remember. I didn't think I would _have_ to remember."  
  
"Wait a second," said Petra, holding her hands up. "Wait. We don't even _know_ it's the same girl, so why are we making so many assumptions here?"  
  
"The fact is," said Bean. "It wouldn't _have_ to be the same person. The murderer, or whoever put the murderer up to this, is only trying to make a point here: anyone who gives information on or tries to help 'exiled' urchins dies. So, whoever gave Peter the information on Ajena last night knows now to keep her mouth shut."  
  
"That doesn't make sense," said Petra. "We don't know that they killed this girl to prevent her from saying something."   
  
"But we don't know that this murder is just a fluke," said Bean flatly. "So it's a coincidence? They just _happen_ to find a girl who looks like the kid who blabbed yesterday dead in a dumpster today? Unless they're bribed, the street kids just _happen_ to refuse to talk about the people who've been exiled from their families? And what did Rietveld tell us the other day in one of his conferences? 'The social worker who brought a young boy home with her was killed the following day, along with the urchin.' It fits."  
  
"It's speculation," insisted Petra.  
  
"But it fits," said Bean, just as stubbornly. "And it makes sense, and if it's true..."   
  
"_If_ it's true," said Petra.  
  
Bean smiled, but it wasn't out of amusement. "Well, then. _If_ it's true, then what do we do about it?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You okay now?" said the voice, his voice. Ajena nodded, stupidly- it was the only thing she could think of to do. He laughed, his breath tickling her ear, "Jesus. Don't ever freak out like that on me again. I'm going to have bruises tomorrow." The hand came off her mouth and she breathed heavily, taking in as much of the cool night air as she could, her mind reeling. The arms around her loosened to turn her around so that she was looking up at a familiar face that she'd thought she'd never see again.  
  
"Mien Gott...." She breathed, reaching up to touch his cheek, not daring to believe, not daring to disprove the boy standing before her, "Sergeant?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
"She escaped." repeated Rietveld.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"By jumping out an window."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"On the third floor."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then what did she do? Just walk out?"  
  
"Probably."  
  
"Probably? How did _that_ happen? We have security on all the exits!"  
  
"Arkanian occasionally sends soldiers out on errands for her," said Peter tiredly, already wishing the conversation was over. "So, if the girl got hold of a uniform, which she did, she could easily leave the building at any time on pretense of going on said errands."  
  
"I see." The words came out in a sigh, "And the guards didn't stop her? After all, she is a bit...young."  
  
"Lately, we've had child strategists from Battle School joining up with the Hegemony. A few of those strategists came to Holland with us. So the guards must not have thought it unusual that it was a girl running the errands."  
  
Rietveld shook his head, "And just when I was going to request you to bring her in for questioning, too...."  
  
Peter looked at him sharply, "Why?"  
  
"The DNA results just came in."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"They told me you were..."  
  
"Dead?" He flashed that grin of his, and kissed her, once, "Well, I thought that I was going to die for a while, too. But here I am, neh?"  
  
She slapped him.  
  
"Don't joke about something like that!" Ajena shouted, kicking at him to make him let her go, "Jesus, Sergeant, do you have any idea how goddamn _worried_ I was? You didn't bother to send a message through Helga, you didn't bother to write a letter to the church that I could pick up, you didn't bother to...." She threw her arms up, furiously, "I thought you were _dead_, you know that? You _let_ me think that you were dead, you crazy, unreliable son of a...." She trailed off, breathing hard, glaring at him.  
  
Sergeant stared at her for a few seconds, dark eyes wide with surprise, then, unexpectedly, began to laugh. She crossed her arms over her chest and gritted her teeth.  
  
"Somehow I fail to see what's so funny."  
  
He grinned at her, "You haven't changed a bit, you know that?"   
  
She looked at him for a second, looking at the grin, the hair, the smile, and suddenly, she exhaled something under her breath in German and walked over to him in two quick strides, pressing her head against his chest, "Damn it. Damn it all to hell."   
  
His arms went around her, but the tone of his voice was still amused, "Yeah, I missed you too, Ajena."  
  
"Scher dich zum Teufel..." She muttered halfheartedly. Go to hell.  
  
"Well, if you put it that way..."  
  
"I didn't mean it literally!" said Ajena, her voice muffled by his shirt.  
  
"You know, if this is how you're going to greet me from now on...."  
  
"Halt den Mund," Ajena said, but there was an affectionate tone behind the words that took away the harshness in the meaning. So Sergeant shut up, closed his eyes, and pulled her closer to him, savoring the feeling of her body in his arms.  
  
God, he'd missed this.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Already?" said Peter. He shook his head. Even with the now-globally-computerized databases, it normally took a few weeks for a DNA sample to process, longer when no information was known about the person.  
  
The mayor of Rotterdam smiled thinly, "Yes. Already. The reason?" He opened a desk drawer and took out a photo without letting Peter see it, turning the snapshot over and over in his hands, "The physical description you gave us- Spanish features, blue eyes- wasn't exactly...common. And, on top of that, it seems as if your street urchin is something of a, ah, celebrity." He took a final glance at the picture before holding it up, letting Peter take a good look at it, "See anything familiar?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You're not off the hook yet, understand?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Sergeant said, pushing her away gently to look at her face. "I figured as much."  
  
Taking a second glance at her, the smile dropped off his face as he saw how the cheekbones jutted out too sharply from the rest of her face. He took hold of her arm, wrapping his fingers easily around the small wrist. Far too easily. "Jesus, Ajena. Hasn't Riki been feeding you?"  
  
Then, a little too late, looking at the expression on her face, he realized the answer to his own question. "Shit." Sergeant growled through his teeth, jamming his hands into his pockets, "I am going to _kill_ that motherfucker...."  
  
"Don't bother."  
  
Sergeant whirled around, "Don't bother? Don't bother?" He threw his arms out, "The bastard tries to... tries to kill you, then, and you tell me not to fucking _bother_?"  
  
"He's already dead."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Bean finished plugging in the anti-bugging device and turned around, hands on his hips, "So what was so important that you had to call Petra and me out of a press conference?" he demanded, "You know that we have to give those damn reporters _something_ every once in a-"  
  
"This," interrupted Peter, "Is a picture of Ajena's mother." He took one photograph out of a manila envelope and put it down on the table. The picture was of a smiling young Spanish woman, with hereditary dark hair and eyes.  
  
"Pretty." said Petra, staring at the picture. The woman looked so _familiar_ for some reason....  
  
Peter nodded, "So now we know where she got her skin and hair color from. Fine. Now this..." He reached into the folder again, "Is Ajena's father."  
  
Another picture, this time of a tall, slender man in his early twenties with dark hair and blue eyes, standing with a group of friends.  
  
"European," said Bean. Petra shook her head, standing up to get a better look at the photos. This man... she had to have seen this man somewhere before.  
  
"German, to be exact." said Peter, "And this..." He put the last picture down, letting everyone see it.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sergeant stopped in the middle of his diatribe, anger melting into shock, "You..."  
  
"Don't really want to talk about it." She said shortly.  
  
The sixteen-year-old looked at her, worry and concern and fear melting together in his gaze, "Did he...touch you...?"  
  
"No."  
  
He exhaled a breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding, "Damn." He said, the incredulity clear in his voice, "Damn."  
  
"Yeah, that just about sums it up." said Ajena as casually as she could manage. He stood there, regarding her for a long time, dark eyes boring into her own, examining her. Finally, he shook his head, and, to her immense relief, changed the subject.  
  
"You're way too thin." He said decisively, opening the door to the soup kitchen and making an only half-mocking bow, "C'mon. My treat."  
  
She raised an eyebrow, "In case you've forgotten, there happens to be the minor issue of money...?"  
  
This time, Sergeant's grin was self-satisfied, "No problem. I got a job."  
  
"Really?"  
  
He nodded, feeling the edges of his lips tug up when he saw the smile that bloomed across her face. Then he forced his mind to turn to more serious matters. Like how she'd gotten so skinny. And what she was doing with obviously military issued clothes. And why she wasn't in her family.  
  
He put an arm around her shoulders, pulled her closer to him, feeling her arm going around his waist as he did so. Her hair smelled nice and he planted a kiss on the top of her head.  
  
The questions could wait, he grinned, sliding an arm around her and propelling her into the brightly lit room. Right now he wanted to make her laugh.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was a small color snapshot of a young Spanish girl, skinny, small for her age, with startlingly blue eyes, unsmiling, staring up at the camera lens as if she were surprised by the attention.  
  
"This is Ajena at age five."  
  
Petra sat down, exhaling heavily, "I thought her parents looked familiar...."  
  
"So..." said Bean, "What's the big deal?"  
  
"You didn't see the news?" said Peter, raising an eyebrow questioningly.  
  
Bean shook his head, "I was on the streets. Didn't really have Net-accessible desks there."  
  
Peter smiled grimly, "You might know her name though. Raeka Chavelle Schneider Delgado."  
  
"More commonly known," said Petra, "As the only person in history to turn down the offer to go to Battle School."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Note (yes, another one. This one's really, really long, though, so you have been warned): Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. What between writer's block, winter break, writer's block, midterms, writer's block, lack of a general plotline (lol), and writer's block, I never got around to editing and posting this until now. So gomen nasai to all. For anyone who cares, I promise I'll get the next chapter out faster, K?  
  
Um, now, explanations. To the best of my knowledge, Spanish names can consist of four parts- two first names and two family names. In this story, Ajena's first names are Raeka and Chavelle, her first family name- her father's last name- is Schneider, and her second family name- her mother's last name- is Delgado.  
  
All right. Now I'm going to try to refute a couple of the statements people made in the reviews for Chapter 3.... Please don't get mad at anything I say- the following section was not written to offend, but to explain my reasons behind what I wrote.  
  
After thinking about it for a while, I agree that the E-mail thing from Bean to Petra _is_ unrealistic, and a major mistake on my part. Is it really _that_ unbelievable, though? I mean, in "Shadow of the Hegemon," Carlotta sent E-mails containing Bean's past and genetic heritage to Graff and Peter _every single day_, up until she died, and, as far as I recall, besides a coding/decoding password, she had nothing to prevent hackers from going in and taking a look (and I'm sure that quite a few would be interested in the contents of an E-mail sent from a Vatican-protected account [in "Shadow of the Hegemon," I think it mentioned somewhere that Carlotta's account was secure because it came from the Vatican]).   
  
Bean and Petra, on the other hand, are not only members of the government, but graduates of Battle School, meaning that they probably have layers of security, either written by others or themselves, all over their computers. Because of that, it seems to me that sending a private E-mail between the two isn't that unlikely.  
  
Also, I believe that Bean _would_ send/give information about his past to others. In "Ender's Shadow," during training at Eros, Bean had already begun to open up to the other children in his jeesh. He told them about Poke, about his life on the streets of Rotterdam, about Achilles...and he didn't even know or trust them that well yet. Now Petra is his best friend, his confidante, his romantic interest (?). I think that he would trust her with his life, with details of his life story. But then again, that's my own opinion.  
  
Okay. Rant over. Sorry for the holes/errors in the plotline, and please review... Need it badly, lol.   
  
Next chapter: A history, a gun, and an odd request.  
  
Quote: "You mean I have to have a reason?" 


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